Ignis Fatuus
by TenTenD
Summary: Lyanna Stark came to work in the house of Lord Dragonstone. He was a reclusive man people found much to whisper about. The rumor mill was alive and thriving - much to the despair of intelligent life forms - and quite simply fascinated by the man. But Lyanna had nothing against a man with secrets. After all, she had her own secrets. AU!
1. Sins of the Father

_A/N: So, I have decided to started yet another AU. Go me! This is inspired by the movie 'Firelight' that appeared in 1997. You can find information on it easily, but in nuce it is the story of a mother searching for her child. The setting is very close to what one would find in Victorian England, hence the governess theme._

_This won't be a long work. I don't think I'll complicate matters overly. And I promise you a happy ending._

* * *

Lyanna set her father's account book on the table with a loud thump, her face turning red in her fury. She couldn't believe he'd done it again. Did he not have even a shred of decency? It really was no wonder her mother's will to live had faded so early and she left the husband with four children to look after. Yet he couldn't even look after himself. "We barely manage as it is, papa!" Lyanna chided him. "How could you gamble away all our savings?" She hadn't starved herself and scraped penny after penny so he could just lose everything at the gaming tables. "What are we to do now?"

It wasn't like the debt collectors would have mercy on them. Rickard Stark had atone point been in the possession of a small fortune. It had increased considerably when he married cousin, who added her dowry to said fortune. Everything had been perfect. The new couple would want for nothing, and neither would their children. They were even blessed with an heir on the first try. Bradon Stark was the oldest of the Stark children. The spare followed in the form of Eddard, then came Lyanna – the only girl – and after Benjen arrived. But by the time the youngest son was born, Rickard had already started losing money at the tables in great amounts. The daughter was not sure what had prompted such behaviour, but there it was. The debts were staring her in the face.

And as one trouble never came alone – because apparently it was just not enough to be covered in debts, there must be the possibility of further financial ruin on the horizon – her father's gambling was not the only thing she needed to worry about. A short week ago, Brandon had suffered an accident. He had gone out riding as was his custom, and Lyanna hadn't expected anything to happen. Yet it did. A bit after ten, someone rang the bell. Lyanna had been consulting the ledgers in her father's Study when Baryon Poole ran inside claiming that something dreadful had happened. That had been the case indeed. It appears that her brother had managed to somehow fall off his horse and break his back, in a most literal sense. Brandon had been unconscious ever since and no maester knew what to do to help.

Then there was Ned who had purchased a commission in the army. That left Lyanna without the responsible man of the family. She understood her brother's desire to find some peace and quiet, but couldn't he have found it closer to home and not in some military company across the sea? Of course not. Lyanna sighed heavily. She only hoped he found a measure of peace, because she had none and she was ready to climb up the walls at this point. His commission had cost good money, which of course her father had borrowed and she had to find a way to pay them back.

The baby of the family had not yet finished his schooling. He had a whole year to go, and Lyanna had no idea whatsoever on how she would find the funds to support him to college. Gods be good! Benjen had a good mind and he was among the smartest of his year, but he was a third son and a minor, thus having little say in the family's finances. The pity was that he could have been of some help in persuading their father to give up gambling.

A couple of years ago, when she was easily manipulated and tenderer of heart, Lyanna had been roped into accepting a suitor's marriage proposal. As she had been a bit too young to wed, it had been agreed that they would wait a few years to enter the blessed state of matrimony. Robert Baratheon, Lord Stormsend, was the name and title of the man. Of course, Lyanna had been charmed by the handsome face and she had been utterly enchanted with the attention he seemed to pay her. She though no ma could equal him, until Robert showed her just how much he actually cared by telling her in no uncertain terms that to him she was only necessary to provide him with a blue-blooded heir. He actually had the audacity to laugh at her hurt expression.

To this day Lyanna hadn't broken their agreement. No matter how ill he treated her, she needed to at least try to convince her to support her family. She was dependent on his – fickle – goodwill and that desire of his to have an heir. But the Baratheons had distanced themselves from the Starks. Not that it mattered to Lyanna, as she hadn't expected Robert to be her gallant knight after that conversation. The last she heard, he was enjoying his freedom with one mistress or another.

"Miss, Lord Stormsend asks to see you. Are you at home?" Baryon stood in the doorway as Lyanna lifted her head and gave him a small nod. "I shall bring him here presently."

Speak of the devil and the devil was on one's doorsteps. Robert entered the study with his sure step. The lavish clothing seemed to have been chosen especially to remind Lyanna of her current predicament. Still, she had the grace to rise to her feet and greet the man properly. "My lord, good day."

"Miss Stark." He smirked at her. It was an infuriating self-assured smile that seemed to say he knew he was her superior and he enjoyed it. "I'm afraid that I've not come here solely for the pleasure of your company." Without preamble, he crushed Lyanna's hope for the future. "We do not suit, Miss Stark. I wish to terminate out arrangement."

"What?" she let her anger slip out. "My lord, that is-" She could not find a word to describe it. It was preposterous. Monstrous even. He knew she depended on him. "My lord, think of what you are saying." He knew she needed the marriage.

"Well if you are going to force me to be blunt, Miss Stark, then I shall do so. I will not go through with the marriage," he told her in no uncertain terms. "There is a gulf between us. It is insurmountable. I regret it, but there you have it."

"I was hoping that-" she started, but never managed to finish.

"I know, Miss Stark. I'm afraid you have pinned your hopes on the wrong person," Robert interrupted.

"So it would seem." The least he could have done was allow her to cry off. At least it was a private arrangement few knew of. "Would that be all, my lord?" A painted vase stood behind Robert's head. Lyanna imagined the satisfactory sound that would be produced by smashing the fine china on the man's head. The pig! She supposed she shouldn't have expected anything better of him. But somehow she was disappointed.

"Yes, indeed. I must ask that your father return the money he has borrowed from me to cover his son's tuition fees." Lyanna almost fell back in shock. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed that it was her destiny to make that route.

"I understand," she said at the last moment. "I'm sure papa will see that you are satisfied." There was no reason to try turning the situation around. For a short moment she wondered if there was ever something that could have made it work. "My lord, is there anything I could have done?"

He considered her question silently. Blue eyes stared into her grey orbs. "No. It is my duty to wed a woman that meets the requirements of my family. Marrying you, my lady, would be an undue burden given the current circumstances."

"I see." She could respect his determination, Lyanna thought with a tinge of remorse. "I bid you farewell in that, my lord. I don't suppose we shall be given cause to see one another again."

"No, I don't suppose we will," Robert agreed. He did not insult her by taking anymore of her time. Lyanna silently tanked him for that. Nor did he make another, more embarrassing offer to her.

She sat back down behind her father's desk. He had found it so easy to discard her. Was she not worth any notice? Signing, the young woman turned her eyes back to the book on the table. Debts, debts, debts. Expenses. Brandon needed medication and a carer. The gods knew father would not stay and take care of his ill son. And Lyanna knew that she could no longer count on Robert. She needed to find some work.

Women in her position did not have many alternatives. She could become a companion to some old woman and take every little insult thrown her way, or she could teach children of titled families. The second alternative stood better with her. If there was one good thing her father had done for his children, then that was to make sure they had a solid education. Lyanna rather thought it had been at their mother's insistence. She was grateful anyway. Although, she didn't know what her chances of finding work were. It was true that a good laic education had become more and more important in the last century, but the religious education of children was still covered by Septas primarily; there was a constant competition.

Still, Lyanna had to try.

What followed were endless days of visiting agencies and trying to plead her case. The problem was that she had no experience to speak of. A few prospective employers suggested that she try teaching at a school for a few years before she attempted to find a job in someone's home. But schools were reluctant to offer her a position on account of her youth and lack of experience. Lyanna had wondered how others managed to do it.

She found herself writing to Eddard in hopes of receiving from him some monetary aid. Perhaps he knew some people who could lend him money. The debtors were growing impatient and Lyanna had less and less excuses of keeping them from seeing her father. Alas, Eddard could spare little to help them, and what he did send fell in the hands of her father. Perhaps she ought to tie the man to his bed. "Papa! I am trying to save us!"

"There, there," Rickard tried to calm his daughter. He had lost money again. "It was just a bad spell. You needn't worry over it. The next time it will be better."

"Next time?" Lyanna gaped. "You are determined to do us in, aren't you, papa? We have nothing! There will be no next time."

"Of course we do. We could sell some of your mother's jewellery," he told her.

"Of course we could," Lyanna mocked unkindly, "if there were any left. We have a mountain of debts, an ill heir, a boy to keep in school and me. How are we to pull through if you won't pull yourself together, papa?"

"I'm sure we will find a way," Rickard dismissed his daughter's concern. "I know that you were disappointed in Robert's behaviour, but there are other men who will be happy to have you for a wife."

He was determined to ruin them. Lyanna hissed something uncomplimentary. "Is that so? Who will have me?" she retorted, angrily slamming her pen to the table. "I have no dowry to speak of. I have an ill brother and one who is still a child; and I must care for them both. Then there is the fact that you gamble obsessively and tend to lose more than a small fortune in a matter of hours. I may have a good lineage and youth, but there are women out there who have that and much more."

"Don't judge yourself so harshly," he tried to soothe her. "You are smart and young and pretty. The men with eyes to see will see."

How they would do that, Lyanna had no idea as she hadn't been out to a social event in a good few months.

* * *

"I am aware that you are facing a difficult period," the bearded man spoke, his voice thick and unctuous. How unfortunate. Lyanna had been sure she had finally found a sympathetic soul. "That is why I have a proposition for you, Miss Stark."

"What sort of proposition?" she asked, mildly curious. It could be nothing good, but she might at least hear the man out so she could be satisfied by giving him a proper set down.

"Miss Stark, you have been searching for work, I am told, with little success. I know of a position that is available and I could recommend you if you so wished."He gave her an odd smile. "I think you would suit."

"And what position is that?" Her hands folded demurely in her lap. A sense of dread filled her. "Pray go on."

"But first I must have a promise if you, Miss. What I say here should remain between the two of us." If his evasiveness hadn't been reason enough to give her worry, than this certainly was. Still, Lyanna nodded her head in agreement. "Have I your word."

"I promise not to say a word of anything we speak about in other company," she replied, eyes narrowing slightly. Her patience was wearing thin. She would not be surprised if this was some search for an assassin. Why else would the man take such excessive care. "You have my word of honour."

"The matter which I shall speak of is delicate," he disclosed. "I would prefer that you refrain from interrupting me while I present the matter to you." Again she nodded, whishing the man would hurry already. "I know a titled gentle man, whose name I am not at liberty to give, in need of the services of a lady such as yourself. I have been contacted by a concerned relative. It seems that he is in dire need of an heir."

Lyanna found no consolation in the fact that she would not need to commit murder. Fornication was a sin as well. But as she had given her word, she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from speaking even at the lull in the man's words.

"The gentleman has no preference regarding the child's gender. But, a male child would be the best outcome. Yet a daughter will do just as well. You would be expected to spend from one to three months in the company of this man, until you are with child. For the duration of your pregnancy you will be cared for by highly professional persons, who will also stay until after the delivery and your recuperation to make sure your health is still good. You shall also be provided with references for a job of your choosing. Furthermore, you are to have as much as half a million Gold Dragons for your services. This sum excludes transport and lodging – those shall be covered by the other part of the contract." There it was, all laid down on the table for her inspection. Lyanna felt sick.

"I cannot be expected to-" she struggled to get the words out. "I cannot do this. I cannot." She would not lower herself so. It was better to starve, Lyanna decided. At least her dignity would endure. "I appreciate the offer, but-"

"Do not be hasty, Miss," the man told her sensibly. "Undoubtedly you think it will blot your reputation, but I can assure you the greatest care will be taken so that you may not suffer from this transaction. You shall have every appearance of respectability. You needn't reply right now, anyway. I shall give you three days to consider my proposal."

"There is nothing to consider. I simply cannot accept this," Lyanna tried again. The man shook his head. "I cannot sell my own child."

"Then what shall you do when the debt collectors come for your father? You will be left without anyone to support you," he pointed out. "You think that you won't do anything to compromise your reputation, but reputation will mean nothing when you are out on the streets and starving, Miss. There are worse deals out there." He was right, damn him. Lyanna grimaces. "You risk nothing in this. And you would be helping someone."

A stab of pain shot through her. If she did this, she could pay the debts, and maybe even put something aside. But to do that, she had to give a piece of herself. Lyanna really couldn't find it in herself to reply.

"I would like to go home, now," she said dejectedly. "I shall consider the proposal and will have an answer ready the next time I come."

"I am glad you see the wisdom of it, Miss." He helped her up. "Remember, you have three days. Consider the matter carefully. I have already said all that I am at liberty to say." They climbed down the stairs together.

"I shall return in three days' time." Lyanna proceeded to enter the vehicle that had conveyed her to this place. She could not look back.

"No need for that," the man assured her, sliding the door shut. "I shall seek you out, Miss Stark and hear what your decision is. Have a good day."

"You too," she answered, relying more on the manner drilled into her by her mother than any express desire for him to have a good day. How easy and comforting it was to fall back on known habits. If only she could remain suspended in time forever. She wouldn't have to worry about her father and his vile and inconsiderate ways. She would not have to care for an invalid brother. She would not have to constantly watch over her little brother for fear of him too falling prey to some misfortune.

Perhaps it was selfish of her. Lyanna fiddled with the frayed end of her linen cuff. Why was it all so difficult?

"Take a turn left here," she addressed the driver. It was time to go home and care for Brandon.

She spent a few hours with Brandon, making sure he was as comfortable as he could possibly be. "Hurry up and get well," she whispered in his hair.

Lyanna knocked on her father's door. He was home that evening. It was a wonder in itself, but Lyanna decided she would not question the miracles of the gods. Instead she carried a tray up the stairs. He needed to eat something. She hadn't seen him all day. The woman had managed to get him some thin soup and some bread she had been saving.

Her arm was growing tired from balancing the tray. She knocked more insistently. "Papa, it is I, Lyanna." She tried the handle. "Papa, I have brought you supper." Rickard had stopped dining with his family long ago, even if he was in residence. Lyanna remembered that mother didn't utter a compliant about it, though her eyes burned with resentment. Placing the tray on the ground, Lyanna decided to look in Brandon's room. Perhaps he had decided to visit his son after all.

Before she could make it to the other side of the hall though, a loud clatter came from her father's room. It sounded like something had fallen over. Lyanna ran back to the door and threw her palms against it. "Papa! Can you hear me? Open the door!" she pleaded. But the door would not open. Worry gnawed at her.

Worried beyond words, Lyanna ran down the stairs and into her father's study. The small cabinet where they stored the spare keys was subjected to Lyanna's violent yanking. She had almost forgotten to open the latch. Desperately, she searched for the key to her father's room. She took one ring from its place and rushed back up the same creaky stairs. Her foot slip on the last step. Lyanna dropped forward, barely able to bring her arms in front of her to cushion her fall.

Forcing herself up, she took the key in her hand and walked to the door. Her leg hurt. Lyanna bit her lip and concentrated on opening the door. This particular door had always caused trouble. It was difficult to open. Lyanna had tried to have it replaced, but her father refused to even hear of it. She should have insisted, but she hadn't wanted to bother him too much and he'd never been too long at home. Lyanna cursed her luck.

The door opened with a loud sound and Lyanna hurried over the threshold. At first she could see nothing. Her father had pulled the curtains over the window. She vaguely remembered his claim that the sun was too strong. But it was no longer day. Lyanna entered even further in. She searched frantically for the man. And finally she discovered something. A leg was visible from behind the bed. Lyanna froze. "Papa," she called out softly. Not him too.

Her feet carried her to the bed. She climbed on the mattress.

* * *

"Are you scared?" the man asked, helping her down. Lyanna gave him a dry look but chose not to speak. "You can still change your mind after the interview." He guided her to the path made entirely out of cobblestones and away from the carriage. Lyanna breathed in the fresh air. "Well, Miss?"

"I already said I'll do it," Lyanna finally answered. "There is no point in changing my mind. The one who would suffer was her. New developments in the tragedy of her life forced on this path. It was not that Lyanna wanted to do this.

She needed the money. Her father hadn't simply fallen out of bed. He had suffered a serious attack. His heart was failing. He too needed medication. Lyanna wondered if it was his wild way of life, or if it would have happened regardless of his sins. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into a dark corner and stay there for the rest of her life, the young woman was well aware that she could not do so. She had responsibilities, and unlike her father, she would not run away from them or neglect them.

In the end she had decided to take advantage of the offer that had been made to her. After all, it was better to commit a sin only once and the repent a lifetime, then to sell herself over and over again as a man's mistress. She would give her child and save the rest of her family. The grim set of her lips spoke of her determination. Besides, she would have real work after that. She could teach children and send the money home to her father and brother. Without doubt it would not be much, but if Benjen turned out as well as she hoped he would, there would be someone to watch over them all. Perhaps even Ned might come back and aid them from time to time.

It seemed unfair – at least in her eyes – how men could get away with running from responsibilities, but women had to shoulder their burdens. And they were given so little recognition for it. "They are a good family, are they not?" Lyanna questioned, curiosity getting the best of her. "The child will be cared for, won't it?"

"But of course," the man assured her. "You needn't worry. The child will want for nothing." It was certainly better than anything Lyanna could give to any child of hers. She nodded her gratitude. "It is alright to feel concerned, Miss. I shall try my best to make it as easy as possible."

"You are very kind," she replied automatically.

"Not at all," he countered. "I am just a good businessman."

How strange it seemed to her to think of creating a life as business. Lyanna had always supposed she would marry and have children, not have a child and then work as a governess for the rest of her days. "Very well then, you are a marvellous businessman."

Left in the care of an old servant, Lyanna entered the mansion she had been brought to. Not a word was spoken to her. She followed obediently until they reached a pair of wide double doors. "Enter that room, Miss, and wait to be addressed," she was instructed as the doors opened. "You need only answer a few questions. Please refrain from going off topic and answer truthfully."

Lyanna would have been insulted if she didn't know any better. These people had no idea what sort of person she was. Well, she would prove to them that she was a woman of her word. "I understand," she replied solemnly.

"In you go, Miss," the servant ushered her inside the room.

The first thing she saw was a wide screen separating the two halves of the room. Lyanna knew that behind it sat her possible employers. "Have a seat, Miss Stark," a female voice invited, Lyanna's eyes darted to the chair. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

Her throat was dry. She hadn't noticed until that moment when the woman mentioned tea. "Yes, thank you, I would like some." She sat down in the indicated place and waited as a servant brought her the beverage.

"How old are you, Miss Lyanna Stark?" the woman spoke to her again. Lyanna wondered just how well she could see through the screen. She supposed it afforded a good enough view.

"I have just turned one-and-twenty," she said.

"Do you have any siblings?" was the next question to be thrown at her. As an afterthought another request was made of her, "Pray tell us how many children you mother has given birth to."

"Yes, three of them. My mother had four children in all. Myself and three brothers." Lyanna supposed it might count for something that her mother had such a perfect record when it came to delivering her children.

"Three sons? That is well," the unknown female stated blandly. "Is your mother still alive? And you brothers?"

"Unfortunately she isn't. She died of a chill," she supplied. Lyanna schooled her features in a mask of neutrality. "As for my brothers, they all live." At least they did so currently.

She wondered what the woman had made of her so far. Lyanna was aware that she did not possess what was considered a childbearing figure. She was rather short of height and slender. But her mother had been much like her and all her deliveries had gone well. She did not think she would have any problem regarding that. What mattered was if she managed to conceive.

The sound of wood scarping on wood distracted Lyanna from her thoughts. She looked towards the screen with interest. It was with some surprise that she heard a male speak. Lyanna had thought that only she and the unknown woman were in the room.

"She'll do," the man, whoever he was, pronounced. Lyanna felt as if she was faced with a sentence. "Miss Stark, I would like to ask you a question."

"Please do so." He had a nice voice. It sounded kind, for a lack of any better term that she could use.

"Why are doing this? We have been told you are in need of money." This was unexpected. Why should this stranger care any for her reasons? "If you can answer me, then I will seal this bargain with you."

"One of my brothers had a riding accident. He needs medical care. My youngest sibling is still being schooled. And my father has accumulated too much debt for me to ever hope to pay on my own. I need funds," she explained. There was no reason to mince words. They could find this out on their own with a few questions.

"You have another brother," the man pointed out.

"Father had bought him a commission in the army. That is another one of his debts." She liked him. He had paid attention to what she'd said.

"Well, consider our bargain sealed," he said. "Miss Stark, does your father know what a dutiful daughter he has?"

"I suspect not," Lyanna quipped, "else he would have repaid me in kind, by being a dutiful father."

"Ah, I see." Those were his last words. Lyanna heard the sound of steps, a door opening and closing.

Did he? A small smile bloomed on her face. Did he really?

She was alone with the woman once more. "When am I to begin?"

"Soon, Miss Stark," she answered after a moment of silence. "I suspect it will be a few days though. I am sure you will wish to explain to your brothers that you have found a position. And to your father too."

Yes, she would have to. Brandon would not hear her. Eddard and Benjen would receive just letters. "They will be well pleased." She drank some tea from her cup. It had gone cold. No one would make a fuss. They would believe her because she was Lyanna, earnest and dependable. "Thank you for your time," she said at last, sliding to her feet. It was time she went home.

"No, Miss Stark. Thank you for your time," the woman replied. "We had no hope of attracting such good candidate as yourself."

It did not bother her to be considered an instrument. How odd. It helped put thing into perspective for her. Yes, Lyanna would keep reminding herself that this was a job. To these people she was a means to an end.

The coach waited outside. "How did it go, Miss Stark?" the man asked her as he helped her in the vehicle.

"The position is mine," she said mildly.

"I knew it would be," he answered. "I told them they had no hope of finding someone better than you, Miss."

She rather hoped not, or it would go to show that fathers in the Seven Kingdoms were a rather poor lot when it came to doing right by their families. "Thank you. It is very businesslike of you to say so," she joked, tittering lightly.

* * *

_A/N: So, can you guess who Lyanna was speaking to. The male is obvious enough, I would think. But the female? Who is she?_

_Tell me what you think! :)_


	2. To Reap What You Sow

_A/N: Well, here is the second chapter. Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews, and bravo to those of you that figured that it was Rhaella and Rhaegar hidden from Lyanna's sight. Later on, you shall find out more about the Targaryen, but for now, enjoy . :)_

* * *

_To my dear brother,_

_I hope my letter finds you well. Everything back home is more or less as you've left it. Father does as he's always done. He has once more gambled what little I've managed to save and I am exasperated as I always am. I don't suppose that should ever change. You would be very surprised to see me at ease, would you not? I would too. I'm afraid I've quite forgotten what it is to be worry free and happy. I dare not complain too much though. We still have a roof to protect us from the rain and that is good enough for me to continue my daily prayers to the gods. Of course, the food helps. You may pull faces at the mashed potatoes they serve you there, but I assure you 'tis much better than the thin onion broth Cook has been feeding us lately. Still, it keeps my stomach from rumbling. _

_Brandon has made no progress whatsoever I am sorry to say. I thought I saw him blink once. It was so fast I was not sure it happened at all, and the following days seemed to confirm my fears. I feed him honeyed water and herbs and from time to time he takes a bit of broth, but I fear giving him too much; he may choke on it. I cannot tell if he feels pain, not do I know if he hears me when I speak to him, but I've made a point of talking more at him than with him. Whenever I am in the room I speak. It makes it seem less lonely. _

_You have written that you found fitting companions among the young and old and I am well pleased for you, brother mine. By his letters our Benjen has made many friends too. He talk about them on and on whenever he writes, so much so that I had to stoop to begging his blatantly that he would write more about himself and less about his friends. He has taken to his lessons and his grades prove it. Only two weeks past I have received a letter from one of his professors commending out family on such smart a young man. I've half a mind to frame it and put it up on the wall. Mother would have been so very proud of him._

_In other news, I have begun searching for work. Our poor finances make it necessary to do so. Father will not work and Benjen is away at school. That leaves me. It took some time but I have secured a place for myself as governess for a respectable family. At least I now have use of all that mother has taught me. I am not sure whether a Septa will be there to. I rather hope not, but if I must compete I promise to give my best. I have yet to meet my young charges, but I am told they are exemplary behaved children. Do I doubt it? Very much, but they cannot be as bad as Benjen used to be. _

_The contract is for one year and the family will give me rooms and food and even a decent pay. I plan to put it away so I might pay some of father's debts with it. Of course that puts me in a bit of difficulty with Brandon's care. But I have found a solution. Father would make a dreadful nursemaid, however, Cook has agreed to care for our brother if I add a little something to her wage. I will supplement that half of it from my own wages and ask that the other half come from you. 'Tis little, only a few coppers._

_I shall write to you as soon as I am at home with my new surroundings and I will instruct you about this matter more, but for now it is enough to know that I have your words. You see, my dear brother, I already know you will not refuse. You and I are the responsible ones Ned. It has fallen to us however much we may wish it hadn't. It is work we could have done without, but it does have its moments, does it not? Benjen at least is bound to appreciate our efforts, and Brandon too, I am sure, knows that he has not misplaced his faith in us._

_I have forgotten to mention, but Brandon has had visitors. A Miss Ryswell and her mother came to our house. I was not very surprised truth be told. But I could not help the concern that had stolen over me at the sight of Miss Ryswell's clearly pregnant form. I was since assured that Bradon was not the father and that Miss Ryswell is to wed a certain Willam Dustin. I know him not and I cannot think that he was a particular friend of Robert's, but here we are. Miss Ryswell was very kind, her mother less so, yet all turned out well enough after the initial shock. Brandon had courted her, or so she told me. I am inclined to believe her, Ned. Is it wrong of me to be glad nothing came of it?_

_It is not my intention to be mean. But the Ryswells have financial problems of their own. We have more than enough to shoulder without adding anything more. I wish Brandon had fallen in love with an heiress. Everything would have been much simpler then. Alas, 'tis not our fate. I will not pin my hopes on you falling in love with some young heiress for I know you better than that. Contrive to have a wife of moderate means if you can, brother mine, and I shall be happy to know you happy._

_That said, I must leave you for I've packing to do and I must give some last instructions to Cook. I do wonder if this place will fall apart around father's ears while I am gone. I am not so sure it won't._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Lyanna _

Sighing, Lyanna folded the paper. She hadn't the heart to tell Ned about Robert withdrawing his offer for her hand, nor could she speak of the loan father had taken from the man. And common decency stopped her from mentioning the true nature of her governess position. No woman in her right mind would admit to plotting to sell her baby – even if she was given a fortune for that. Lyanna could not think about it. She pushed the letter away after sealing it shut. She was planning something terrible.

"Are you certain you wish to do this?" Rickard asked, resting his feet on a low stool. "I can find money, daughter. You needn't work. Not one Stark had worked in over a hundred years."

"That is not something to be proud of," Lyanna replied harshly. "And we already owe too much to too many people. You needn't borrow even one more penny." She was growing tired of having to explain her choice to her father. Ever since she'd told the man about her post he'd been hounding her to give up and settle on finding herself a rich suitor. It was only this she could take without pouring her frustration of him.

Rickard Stark was ill, she reminded herself, coaxing her mien into something resembling gentleness. Lyanna wondered if it worked. "Papa, I am doing this for all of us." She tried her best to soothe him. It would not do for him to have another attack.

"I know," he sighed as if tired. "I know that, my dear." He had the grace to look contrite. Lyanna strengthened her resolve; she knew what was to come. "What shall I do without you? You leave your sick father for a hand of coins? Does filial duty mean so very little to you?"

Furrowing her brows Lyanna swallowed the nasty retort on her lips. "You shall get along fine without me, father. It will be just a little quieter in the house. But you'll have Brandon and Cook will remain on to take care of the two of you. I am hardly leaving you to fate's mercy." That appeased him little.

"Cook? Do you expect me to consort with the hired help?" His face turned sour. "I still do not see why you cannot stay."

Lyanna bit her lip. "I have already given my word. I shall go whether you like it or not, papa. My word is my bond." And that was all she was willing to say on the matter. On the morrow, her carriage would come and she still had packing to do. As she was unsure of where exactly it was that she was going, Lyanna had opted to be safe and take a bit of everything with her. "I must go to my room now. I know you shall excuse me."

She left him sitting by the fire. It was time to speak to Brandon as well, though he would not know it.

* * *

The carriage rolled through the gates, wheels turning round and round. Lyanna closed the book she had been reading. As promised, a man had arrived to pick her up a few days past. Lyanna had not spoken to him and he had not attempted to pry. She was thankful for that, and wondered how much they'd had to pay the man for his silence. It was none of her concern, of course.

Instead of dwelling on such thoughts, she turned her eyes to the mansion that stretched in front of her. It was not exactly imposing. The mansion was spacious, but there was something quaint about it. From underneath the cracked varnish, which was quite old and of an undistinguishable colour – it might have been white or ivory at some point, but that was hidden beneath dust and old age – peeked pale red bricks. Climbing ivy had made itself a home on the walls and some red flowers grew on them. The house made a pretty enough picture for Lyanna to look at.

"We are arrived," the driver told her, opening the door. He held his hand to help her down. "I leave you here, mistress." By that she understood that she was to go in alone.

Lyanna wondered what she would find inside. Oh, the man's voice had been nice enough in tat room, but she knew nothing about him. Fear nestled in her breast as she took a few steps forward. Was he watching her from one of the windows, waiting for her to enter? She looked up, but there was nothing to be seen there, only laced curtains. Taking a deep breath, Lyanna placed a fist over her wildly beating heart. She had to do this.

After she took that first step, it became easier. The doors opened and a servant girl greeted her with a bob of her head. Lyanna passed her the soft cloak that she took off her shoulders. "The maser will see you in the solar, my lady," the girl said. "I shall lead the way."

Lyanna accepted with a nod of her head. She did not feel the need to speak. Rather she was curious. She was curious to know what he looked like, if he was tall and handsome and young, or if he was something else entirely.

The solar was well lit. Streams of light came in through the window as Lyanna stepped inside. And suddenly there he was, the man whose voice had haunted her days on end. He was tall, she knew by his long legs, yet she could not guess how tall for he was seated. His face was handsome, and the most striking features were the amethyst eyes and silver hair. More unexpected was the harp standing in front of him. The stranger made no secret of watching her back. Lyanna had the urge to bob him a curtsy. Instead she greeted him solemnly, "My lord."

"My lady," he replied with that same pleasant voice she had heard before. She stood before him uncertainly. Lyanna worried her fingers. "Please, sit." He smiled at her kindly. She understood why he did not give her his name. "I want you to be comfortable here, my lady."

She would stay here a year after all. It would do her good to find some comfort in these walls. Lyanna sat down in the empty chair next to his. Should she do something, say something? "Thank you, my lord," she finally said after what seemed like an eternity.

The man gave her no other words but his fingers played skilfully across the strings of the harp and sweet music filled the room. Before she knew it, Lyanna felt herself relax. It was close to evening and in a few hours it would be dark. And when the moon rose she would have to lower her clothing and give the man her maidenhead and soon a child. But his songs helped, she found. She could close her eyes and imagine the songs and mayhap she would not feel shame and pain.

He was no monster. This stranger took care to have her fed and as comfortable as she allowed herself to become. Though conversation was scarce between them when it came time to retreat he took her hand gently in his and led her up the stairs to a wide room with a large bed. "I will leave you for some time, my lady, to acquaint yourself with the room."

He did exactly as he promised, but Lyanna could not do anything but pull her dress off and search for one of her nightdresses. It was long and white and very maidenly with its sturdiness. This was her only armour, Lyanna thought. There were candles on the table which she lit. A fire already burned in the hearth. Lyanna hurried under the covers after she had plaited her hair in a thick braid. And then she waited with her heart squeezing in her chest.

The door opened after what seemed like an eternity. Lyanna heard the squeaks and the steps on the wooden floors. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer in her head. The bed dipped under the additional weight as he climbed in with her. The coverlets lifted to admit him on top of her. Lyanna resisted the urge to rear from his touch. There was nowhere to retreat. Her eyes flew open when she felt his fingers pulling at the linen covering her lower half.

He tried to calm her with a shushing sound as he continued to lift her garment. The material bunched around her waist. Her fingers fisted in the sheets. Lyanna knew he wore no clothing under the coverlet; she could feel his naked skin against hers. A blush stole over her cheeks. Fixing her eyes upon a point on the ceiling, Lyanna tried to even her breathing. Her partner stirred against her thigh, no doubt woken by the hunger for flesh. He caressed her sides through the nightdress. It was little enough and not exceptionally lewd, but it seemed to work.

Blunt and straight, that was how he felt between her legs. Lyanna sucked in a breath as he pressed down on her. Instinctively she tried to move away but he held her still. He was careful with her and not at all rough, slipping inside of her slowly, but Lyanna still felt discomfort as she was stretched wide. Without a basis for comparison Lyanna could not be sure of her assessments, but she still wondered if other women felt like this, invaded and opened impossibly wide.

Suddenly he stopped. Lyanna didn't dare pull her eyes from the ceiling. Something coiled inside of her as he backed out, then glided in once more, this time spearing through a thin layer of flesh. Wetness, which Lyanna could only guess to be blood, slid down her thigh. She'd given a sharp sound of pain though it had been more shock than ache she'd found at losing her maidenhood. It was done. That was the only though chasing through her mind as the man worked atop of her.

He whispered sweetly in her ear, though his touch was clinical and not something infused with passion. The blood had made the friction easier. Despite the fact that she smarted some as he moved in and out of her Lyanna did not think the act very horrible. She'd been told that the first experience was the worst and in time, as she grew accustomed, she could even find enjoyment in this. While the young woman did not know about pleasure, she could make do with what she was being given now. The man grew rigid atop of her and his hand gripped at her hips. Something hot and wet soaked her insides a few moments later. His rested his forehead against her clothed shoulder. She could feel the dampness even through the layer of cloth.

Lyanna hissed as he pulled out of her completely. He released her hips and dropped to her side, not even touching her now. Her legs were strangely numb though she burned at their junction. There was something sticky there, a mixture of blood and something else. Lyanna thought that to be seed. But so much of it? How strange. She would need to wash herself, she realised dimly through a haze of emotional and physical exhaustion. To her left he shifted, pulling one of the covers with him. The other remained to cover her. Lyanna pulled the hem of her nightdress down. She closed her eyes and waited to hear the door close. He did not disappoint.

But to her surprise he returned. Lyanna's eyes widened. He had taken the time to dress himself and he brought in a bowl of water and some clean linen. Her face went red. "You shouldn't," she tried to dissuade him when he placed the bowl on one of the nightstands. He gave her no mind, but peeled the cover back.

"You'll feel better after," he said. The linen was dipped in water, but when Lyanna tried to take it from his hands, he simply shook his head and lifted her nightdress midthigh. He didn't need anything else. The cloth scraped against her skin, cool against the heat and soothing to her ache. It came back stained red. Lyanna looked away. The water in the bowl pinked as he repeated his actions until he was sure she was quite clean.

She did feel better. He put the strip of material away and slid back in bed with her. Lyanna accepted his arms around her. He held her to his chest gingerly. The pain dulled and simmered. She wondered if she would be able to walk on these feet on the morrow. She fell asleep feeling warm and protected and less awkward than she'd ever felt.

When the morning came she was still in the hold of this man. He had curled himself around her, large hands pressing against her. His form was lithe but solid, and there was strength is both hands and arms. She could feel it in the way the muscle tightened involuntarily when she slider her hand along his arm. Curiosity pushed her on. Her fingers touched his temple, sliding towards the silvery strands. He looked too young to have greyed. It was likely that this was the colour of his hair. Lyanna wondered if the child she bore him would take after him. His hair was soft but sturdy enough. She liked it, the woman decided.

There was a sadness about his face. Even relaxed in sleep he seemed saddened by something. Lyanna wanted to know what he looked like when he smiled. It would be something beautiful, she thought. Lyanna did not dare touch anything else. She would wake him. She did not wish to wake him. Somehow it was easier to face him when he was asleep. She had half a mind to get up and run away somewhere all the same.

There was a queer feeling to lying in the arms of a stranger. She had felt protected on the previous night. But that had been in the glow of firelight, in the semidarkness, in the safety and secrecy of night. This was daylight that spilled through the window; it was harsh and strong, leaving nothing of the intimacy the moon had provided. Shifting slightly, Lyanna attempted to find a position that did not involve having her chest pressed to his.

Why had he chosen to sleep with her? The effort to make a child was one thing and sleeping together was quite another. He would end up confusing her even further if he did things like this. Lyanna did not want him so near her when they were not fulfilling the terms of the contract. It would only serve to break her heart later on. She could not, would not allow anything like that to happen. Silently she reminded herself why she'd come here.

* * *

Avoidance was easy during the day. Lyanna was not expected to keep company with him at all times, she found. Usually he retreated to his own rooms and she was left to explore the mansion and familiarise herself with the rooms and hallways. Sometimes she heard music ringing through the halls. He played very well. It was to keep occupied, Lyanna knew. Her partner seemed to be of a mind with her and kept his distance during the day. Only at night did he come to her, the gentle glow provided by the fire lighting an aura around him.

Yet even so there were night when it did not feel like they were simply trying to create a life. Indeed, it wasn't always about the child. The first time he kissed her Lyanna had promptly frozen, her lips parting in a gasp. Then came the touching, careful and light and imbued with something more than duty. He'd played her body as well as he played his harp. There was skill to his caressing she found and that made bedding him all the more pleasant. Lyanna had never dreamed she could feel like that. It hardly mattered that she did not know his name or anything else about him. Her body recognised him for a lover and her heart followed foolishly.

Lyanna had told herself she would not develop any sort of affection for the man; it had been more or less a vow. Yet she broke it. The young woman found that it was quite impossible to sleep with a man, draw her pleasure with his, and not grow fond of him. He was becoming a habit that Lyanna feared would be hard to break.

As days and even weeks passed by, they grew closer. It became a strange travesty of marriage as they spend their evening in the sitting room in front of the heart, sometimes she holding a book and he playing his harp, and other times he would read out loud from a tome full of poetry. Lyanna's heart would crack a little more each time. She knew what it meant, and she dreaded the day when he no longer had need of her. It would come. Slowly but surely, it would come. There was nothing Lyanna could do to stop it from happening; in fact her dalliances with her employer encouraged it.

Rain was pouring from the sky in abundance when her fears were finally confirmed. She had been late after the first few times but she had said nothing of it, thinking that it was simply that. Her monthly courses hadn't always been on time after all. But, it being the second time they refused to come, she had little choice but to tell the man who employed her.

So Lyanna took a deep breath and when they were seated in front of the fire she told him her news. "My lord, I am late." She prayed he would get the message as she would not need to elaborate, though she didn't think it would be the case.

The end had come. He'd simply nodded his head but that night he did not come to her. The meaning was clear. It was done. It was over. Lyanna cried that night. For all she told herself it was foolish to weep, she could not stop the flood of tears. Hugging herself tight, she tried to find oblivion, aware that it was the only state that would give her peace.

He did not stay long after that. Septas and midwives had been sent for her. It seemed that the family wanted to take no risks, so Lyanna had an army of caretakers to look after her for the duration of her pregnancy. There was nothing she could not have. A word was enough for the object of her desire to be brought to her. Yet Lyanna did not long for an object. She wanted a person.

Before he left, her employer came to bid her farewell. Lyanna was not certain if she was touched or angered by it. He did not smile, nor did he frown. The muscles of his face had relaxed in a mask of neutrality. Did he feel nothing for her, she wondered sadly. Could he not summon even the faintest trace of melancholy at their parting?

"My lady, we shall not be seeing one another from now on," he said, stepping closer towards her. Handing her a bundle of documents, he signalled the end of their dealings together. "My man of affairs will come by after the child is born and you may have his help in organising your actions further." Tentatively, he reached out a hand and placed it on her flat stomach. "Take care of yourself, my lady."

She would not lose his precious babe. Lyanna scowled. It was lucky that he was not glancing at her face just then. "I shall, my lord," she replied, not knowing what else she could possibly say. She felt like crying again. But she would not do that. "Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" Lyanna was not sure on that point. he'd been told a boy would be better, but a girl would do well enough too.

"Society would deem it necessary that I have a male heir." He looked in no hurry to leave then. "I have never concerned myself with what society deems necessary though. Boy or girl, I shall love this child. I promise to do right by the babe." She had no doubt he would. "What will you do after?"

Lyanna did not know. She feared the sight of children would make her burst into tears. How would she look upon them and not think of her own son or daughter. "I suppose I shall find a position as a governess, my lord." For half a heartbeat she thought he might say something to that. His lips had parted as if prepared for speech, but he seemed to think better of it. A nod was her answer.

"I hope that you find happiness," Lyanna Stark." It was the first time he said her name. The syllables slipped past his lips with a naturalness that made her heart twist painfully. "You are a wonderful young woman." The rest went unsaid, but she heard it anyway. If things had been different, if the situation hadn't been what it was.

At least now she knew she wasn't alone in her grief. He had felt it too then. She took comfort in that and she found the strength within her to smile. Lyanna stood to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. She was going to do something stupid. "I hope you find happiness as well," she replied, fusing her lips to his. He did not push her away. She felt his arms around her waist and his lips moving under hers. This was the last time. She would never see him again. She would never touch him or feel his touch again, so she poured every little thing in her kiss and hoped that somehow he understood without the words.

And the next moment he was gone.

Watching the carriage drive away from the window left her empty and sad. She hugged her middle, hoping that it would remind her of warmth. It did. There was a child there. A life she had made. Half of her, the thought echoed through her mind. And half of him, her handsome stranger whose name she did not know, but for whom her hear had torn itself in tiny pieces.

"Come," a wizened faced woman called to her, gripping her hand gently. "Come sit by the fire. 'Tis not good for you or the babe to linger where the air is chilly." Lyanna allowed herself to be pulled from the window and seated in a wide chair with blankets placed atop of her. The old woman could not know the chill was in her heart, not in the air.

Tears slid down her cheeks. How could they know? It had been her mistake to fall in love. "There, there," the crone soothed her. "Time heals all wounds." Even those gaping and bleeding deep in her breast. "Hush now. Don't distress yourself." She had turned into a watering pot, Lyanna thought wryly. "You are overset."

That she was. The young woman waited patiently for her tears to fade. She ought to write home and tell her father that she was doing well. And she would have to think of something to say about her pupils. A dash of mischief here and there to convincer her father of the legitimacy of her claims. She should write to Ned as well. Last she heard of him, he was thinking about making a short visit home. If all went well, she would be home too when he came.

But a few long months had to pass before then. How exciting and terrible at the same time. "It is time for another adventure," she whispered to the burning flames.


	3. A Mother's Love

Lyanna took a small knitted slipper in her hand, marvelling at the size and texture. Need had taught her to wield a needle marginally well, but knitting was another story altogether. Her mother hadn't taught her, as at that time there had been no need for it. Everyone had been convinced she would make a striking match with some rich lord and all her life would be a succession of balls, visits to the opera and theatre and shopping for gowns. How much easier her life would have been then.

"This is very pretty," she told Mariya, handing the small slipper back. "I honestly do not know how you do it. Tell me the truth. This is magic, isn't it?"

The other woman laughed. "Nay, 'tis not magic, Miss." She looked at Lyanna's now protruding stomach. "Would you like to go outside for a bit?"

"That would be lovely," Lyanna agreed with a small smile of her own.

The last months had been lonely. Exceedingly so. It got to the point where Lyanna would enter the sitting room at the end of the hall and sigh when she saw her employer's empathy chair. He had left. Her brain affirmed it over and over again. But her heart, wretched, disobedient organ that it was, stirred and twisted at his absence, leaving Lyanna in agony over a perfect stranger. So she would take a deep breath to gather her courage and walk to the chair. Lyanna would stare at the thing for a few good minutes before sitting on it. Strange as it was, it always calmed her. Especially after the babe started moving about.

The first time the child had kicked, Lyanna had a small panic attack. She had been in her bed, close to falling asleep, and all of a sudden, something painful coiled inside of her stomach. She'd jumped up with a start and the blows would grow in frequency. There had been a few moments of sheer terror and then when she finally realises what was going in, Lyanna had simply started stroking her enlarged abdomen. Somehow, she did not remember how she made it to the sitting room and into that chair, and, the miracle of miracles, the babe stopped abusing her middle.

One of the Septas found her there in the morning. Lyanna had explained that the babe was calmer for some unknown reason if she sat there, so ever since Lyanna could be found in that chair, near the fireplace, warming her hands and feet, reading a fairytales book out loud or simply having a cup of tea.

For exercise she was permitted to walk in the gardens surrounding the house. However, she was advised not to strains herself, as that might harm her child. Truth bed told, Lyanna had grown accustomed to the additional weight, and she had grown very fond of the life inside of her. This babe was his, that man's that had made her heart beat fast, that man's that had made her a woman. And hers too; the child was as much hers too. She would find herself speaking to the life within her at the oddest moments, or she would be looking in a mirror and the next thing she knew, her hand would be stroking over the place where her child was. It was strange and exhilarating, and more than just a little scary.

Mariya put down her work and sat up. "Allow me to assist you, Miss," she said, holding her hand out. Lyanna took it gratefully. She was finding her movement much restricted of late. Not that she was complaining, of course.

So, with Mariya's help she got to her feet and together they walked the hall to the doors that led to the gardens. Lyanna gingerly stepped outside, taking in the fresh air. It was still early spring, and though some trees did have small patches of green on them, most were still naked to the cool air trickling through their braches. By the time the child was born, flowers will have bloomed in a myriad of colours and shapes and seizes. It would be such a splendid sight and a very pleasant fragrance, Lyanna considered with a smile.

She walked around for a short while, Mariya keeping her company. The woman spoke of so many things in such a short time that Lyanna would never have managed to get a word in beside her. That was fine. It meant she need not make conversation, only listen and even that with half an ear. Mariya needed no one's encouragement to speak. She was a chatterbox. But there was something sweet about her too. They stopped at one of the small wooden benches and Lyanna sat down. She gave Mariya an apologetic smile.

"My feet just aren't what they used to be," she said, folding her hands in her lap primly. "Is this to be expected? I eat more than before and sleep even more than that, and yet I'm tired. All the time."

And she was. Not bone aching, sleep inducing tired; Lyanna doubted that it was anything threatening. But she was worn out by worried and hopes and dreams and a million other things in between. There were times when she wished she hadn't entered the contract at all.

"Very normal. 'Tis just the babe," Mariya told her. "My sister used to sleep half the day away when she was round with her first child." She blinked at Lyanna. "That child, 'twas a boy. Mayhap you are having a boy as well, Miss."

A boy or a girl, either was fine with the father. Lyanna had never really considered what she wanted. And thinking about it, she realised that she too did not care one way or the other so long as the child was healthy. A strong little boy or a pretty little girl. And then a wave of sadness hit her.

The child was not hers. he would birth the babe and see the child, but she could not hold this life in her arms.

But she had her father and Brandon to worry about. And the chid would be well provided for. Lyanna sighed and hugged her middle protectively. "That is a nice thought," Lyanna conceded to Mariya's earlier prediction. "Do you have children, Mariya?"

"Nay, Miss," the woman replied. "But I'd be happier with a girl. These boys, all they do is run around and break thing, rip their clothes and dirty their best suits. I haven yet to meet a boy who doesn't."

Lyanna thought about her own brothers. "I'm certain you're right." While well-behaved in company, children did tend to run around doing causing little disasters when not under direct supervision.

One of the servants was crossing the expanse of green grass in a hurry, skirts lifted and long legs eating away at the distance between herself and the backdoor. Lyanna paid it little mind. She knew that from time to time, letters came for the midwife in charge of the team that had been assembled to care for Lyanna when the time came. She also knew that it was her child's father that rote those letters. Of course it was because she had once seen one of them on a table, and, curiosity getting the best of her she had read the first few lines. Upon realising what she was reading, Lyanna deposited it back where she found it and left the room, knowing that if she stayed she would look at the man's name. And she had promised not to.

Oh how she'd regretted that afterwards. It just might be that she should have looked at the name. Lyanna shook the thought away. Nay, she would not look to find the man's name again. Her mind made up, Lyanna asked Mariya that they head back to the house.

"I fear I might catch a cold in this chill," she felt obliged to say. But her child had started kicking again and she was very, very hungry. Cook would see to it that she was given something to nibble on until it was time for the noon meal.

Together the two women walked back to the house and soon enough Lyanna found herself back in her chair. She was treated to a cup of warm tea and some delicious biscuits. And there she remained, in front of a healthy fire.

One of the servants brought her a storybook which she eagerly perused for a tale she hadn't yet read to the child. In the end she settled for something about a knight defending a pious maiden against the accusations of a horrible man who wanted to steal her birthright.

The thing Lyanna liked most about these tales was the happy ending. No matter the hardships faced, the heroes always got their happy ending. If only real life could be that sweet too.

Alas it was not to be so.

Lyanna closed the book as she spoke the final line, "And they lived happily ever after. The end."

* * *

Pain, horrible, breathtaking, soul-shattering pain was all that Lyanna felt from the moment she opened her eyes. A scream crowded her mouth, making it impossible to breathe, as she clenched her teeth against the sound. From the corner of her eye she could see a flurry of motion all around her, the midwives preparing whatever they thought would be needed. Warm liquid slid down her thighs, staining the sheets red and pink. Sweat poured down her forehead and sweat covered her skin; Lyanna shook with the effort of keeping still. Her elbows ached. She couldn't rest her weight on them any longer.

Lyanna fell back on the pillow and let out a piercing scream. A hand touched her shoulder and Lyanna garbed at it, wrapping her fingers tightly around it and squeezing. "You must try to calm yourself," a voice whispered in her ear. "You are doing fine. Everything is progressing admirably."

What Lyanna wanted to hear was that her babe would be coming out soon. The only word she managed to pant was a weak attempt at gaining information. "When?"

"Soon, very soon," the same voice replied. Lyanna wasn't sure who the woman was. Tears blurred her vision and her own pain as too much of a distraction. "It shan't be long now. You are almost there."

A wet compress caressed her forehead and neck the next moment, wiping away the sticky product of her labour. The cool felling made Lyanna gasp and shiver. She breathed hard, trying to regain some of her strength. "I cannot do this," she found herself saying, despair worming its way through her resolve. "I cannot," she cried.

"Yes, you can!" a harsh voice answered her from a few paces away. A different voice, Lyanna realised through the fog of pain that had descended upon her. "Listen to me. Take a deep breath and push with all your strength. Now. Do it now!"

Following the instruction, Lyanna swallowed a gulp of air and forced herself to push. A groan was ripped from her throat, low and feral. She sounded so much like an animal, she couldn't even recognise herself. Lyanna grimaced and gasped for air. A wine followed a contraction. This would never end, she feared.

"Again!" the rough voice ordered, and Lyanna hurried to push. "Come one, you can do it. That's it! That's it, you push."

The soaked cloth kissed her skin again and the rim of a glass was pressed to her lips. Lyanna took a mouthful of water and swallowed almost convulsively. She half listened to the encouraging whispers around her. An army of people was around her, urging her on. Lyanna threw herself back in the fight. She now understood why some women were of the opinion that birthing children was a war.

Pushing her fears away, the young woman attempted to catch what the head-midwife was saying. "I can see the head. Well done, girl. Well done. The head is out. It's almost over, dearie."

Relief coursed through her, but it was time to gather her strength once more. "Did you hear?" the more pleasant voice spoke once again. "The head is out. The hard part is done. Soon, the babe will be completely out.

She tried to raise herself on her elbows while pushing, but her members refused to work. Thankfully the women seemed to know what her intention was for her helped her up and one even held her there. The blanket obstructed her view, and Lyanna couldn't imagine what was really down there. But she could certainly feel it. She thought losing her maidenhead had been painful. This went beyond pain, agony, suffering.

"That's it," someone said. "That's it, girl. Push again. Come now, put your energy into it. You are so close. So close."

She sobbed and pushed harder that she'd ever done, and then pushed again and again and again. Gods be good! It went on and on and on. Lyanna didn't know how much time had passed since it had begun. If she said a thousand years, it would not be sufficient. A clear mind might have been able to approximate, but she could not think beyond the pain that tore at her. Never had she been ripped like this, in two.

Without doubt she had filled a lake with all the blood that had leaked out of her by now. When would it be over? The question jabbed at her, sinking its teeth and claws into her tender skin. She though she would not be able to take in so much pain and still feel, but apparently her tolerance for it was very high. Did other women feel like this? If they did how did they survive? Lyanna's throat worked to catch the sobs, but she couldn't control them no more than one could control the waves of the sea. Screams poured out of her in time with the pulsing ache. They were not enough to relieve her or to appease her, nonetheless she grunted and cried and tried to stop herself from falling backwards. The steadying hand at her back was welcomed, as was the damp handkerchief.

What would she have possibly done if she'd been alone in this situation? The thought was so scary that she had to keep in a frightened scream. She was not alone, Lyanna reminded herself. Her streak of stubbornness reasserted itself and Lyanna opened her eyes, though a bit slowly. The head-midwife was peering at her questioningly.

"The last one, girl," she said. "This is the last push. One more time and that's it." By the look on her face, it could be nothing but the truth she spoke.

This news was balm to Lyanna's sores. She nodded her head and scrambled to find purchase on the nearest available objects. With a last effort she concentrated on finding every ounce of force left inside of her after this ordeal. And with one last battle cry she pushed, a mighty shove that would have done the heroes of old proud.

A howl pierced the subsequent silence that had fallen over the room. Lyanna saw them lifting a tiny, blood soaked creature that flailed and kicked and screamed its displeasure at being ripped from all the warmth it had ever know. Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheek unchecked. Heavy breathing become louder and louder in her ears. She closed her eyes. Water splashed and the child cried and someone was pulling the sheet beneath her and cleaning the remnants off of her skin.

"Here, hold your child," a thin voice offered and Lyanna opened her eyes. A babe was being held in front of her. "Meet your son," the woman continued.

Another helped Lyanna position her arms and the boy was deposited in her hold. A strangled sob chocked her. "Oh gods!" He was so small. Lyanna breathed in his scent, her nose ghosting over the crown of his head. A fine dark fuzz adorned his head. Lyanna gave a tremulous smile. His eyes were murky, of an undecided colour. But most of all he was tiny. Love swelled in her breast at the sight, scent and feel of him. He was hears. Even if they took him away that very second. "I love you, little one," she whispered. "I love you so much. Don't ever forget that." She trued to commit every little detail to memory.

The newborn gurgled softly, his lips smacking. No doubt he was hungry. Lyanna looked up to the women who were busy cleaning the room. One of them smiled at the mother and child. "It is time to feed him," the woman said, coming closer to Lyanna.

"I can do it," Lyanna offered, confused.

"Miss, there is a wet-nurse here already. 'Tis better like that." The other frowned when Lyanna shot her a dark look. "Miss, I have to take the babe now."

For one moment, Lyanna thought to tell them no. She thought to clutch the child to her chest and never let him go. But then she remembered why she was doing this. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She allowed them to take the boy from her arms and did not even bother to hide her tears as they took him to another room.

"Oh, Miss," one of them tried to soothe her, "your son will be just fine. He'll be happy and he'll have anything he ever wants. You needn't weep for him. He'll grow up a fine lad in a nice home with nice parents who will love him and spoil him rotten."

But Lyanna wept for herself and for all that she had lost on this day. The woman hugged her and Lyanna released all her frustrations, mindless of the mess she was making. Her boy, her beautiful little boy. She would never hold him again. Her heart felt too big for her chest, ready to rip through bone and flesh and tissue, to burst out at any moment. It would have been a thousand times better to have no heart.

In the end, she could do nothing but huddle under the covers and weep and weep and weep until no tears were left. She fell asleep feeling cold and exhausted, a pain so severe in her heart that it was a wonder she could breathe. How those hours had passed, Lyanna would never know. But somehow they did, for when she woke up it was a new day. And with it came another wave of pain and desolation.

She did not want to get out of bed. She did not want to face a world where her son was far from her arms. But she had to. Lyanna had always done what she had to, from accepting Robert's proposal to bearing a child for a stranger. That was just how she was. So, Lyanna threw her blanket away.

The ground was cool underneath her sockless feet. Lyanna welcomed it. She got out of bed slowly, as if she had all the time in the world. And she did. Though her own clock had stopped at that exact moment when they took her child away, she found, not without a great deal of consternation, that the world went on. A personal tragedy, she realised, was not one most commiserated with.

And really it had been her choice to give the child away hadn't it? She had no one to blame but herself. In her heart she hoped that somewhere in the back of her son's mind he would carry the memory of her voice. It was all he had of her. That and the dark hair. Would he remember that somewhere was a woman who loved him so much that her heart cracked and was overflowed with the feeling? Would his father tell him that? Nay, he wouldn't. Never, she thought.

It was easier to think now. Lyanna walked to the window. She touched her fingers to the glass. It was cool too. Outside the flowers had bloomed. So beautiful.

"Miss, what are you doing out of bed?" Mariya asked from somewhere behind her, voice scandalised and fearful. "You mustn't be up and about after all that. You need time to recover, Miss. Back in bed with you."

She trudged back to bed, much like a scolded child. Her stomach rumbled. "I would like something to eat," she said. "What time is it?" She had no idea how long she had slept. Actually, never had she slept so profound in her entire life. She must have been even more tired than she had imagined.

"A little past noon, Miss," Mariya replied. "We were worried when you wouldn't wake up, but the midwife said 'twas perfectly normal. Now stay there and I shall bring you something to eat. Listen to Mariya and you'll be on your feet faster than you know."

The woman made for the door, humming to herself a lively little song and Lyanna placed her head on the pillow, closing her eyes, willing the sadness away from her heart.

* * *

"Eddard Stark, you have no right to speak to me like this!" Lyanna yelled over her brother's berating, cutting him off midsentence. "You left me! You packed your bags and left! And I had to stay and take care of everything, because you couldn't or wouldn't or whatever your reason was."

"Lyanna," he groaned, making a face. "I left for us. I had to find work." He said it as if Lyanna defied logic by blaming him for anything. "Would you have rather that we all lived on the streets?"

"That's a lie," Lyanna said in an angry voice. "You could have found work here. Don't look at me like that!" She shoved his hand away. "You left for yourself, and you left because you could."

Ned shook his head. "Gods be good! A child." He licked his lips. "If I had know…," he trailed off.

"What would you have done?" she asked spitefully. The subject of her son was still sore and Lyanna ached whenever he was mentioned. "Would you have come back? Would you have paid father's debts and Brandon's care? I did what I had to do."

"But the price." He left it at that. Ned took her in his arms and rocked her gently. Lyanna hated that he could make her feel like a helpless little girl. She fought against his hold, but Ned was not willing to allow her an escape. "I don't even know what to say. You had a child."

"I have a child," she pointed out. They remained in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts. Lyanna wrapped her arms around him too in the end, clutching him with unrelenting force. "Ned, I want to see him grow." Yet she wouldn't. Ned tightened his embrace, rubbing her back soothingly when he heard the beginning of a mournful sound. He brushed her hair and whispered in her ear, but Lyanna was inconsolable. She appreciated the effort though, so she squeezed him back. "I want my son, Ned. Just to see him, nothing more."

"You don't know anything about this man who hired you." She could feel him choking on the words. How he'd raged when she told him about the whole business. Her brother had returned for a short visit and Lyanna, unable to keep such a secret to herself, poured everything out in his listening ears. He had gone white then red then ashen and ran out the door, not to be seen for the next few days. Thankfully their father hadn't been down with them at that time. In fact, Ned had kept her confidence, despite how angry he had been.

"But I do," Lyanna protested. "I know that he is a good man, and I know that his social standing is high and I also know how he looks." She drew away from her brother's protective embrace. "I just don't know his name."

"I don't know what you want me to say." He fell back in his chair, staring out the window in a thoughtful manner. "Have you found anything else to do? Beside bearing children to strangers, that is."

Lyanna shoved a letter in his lap, none too pleased with his attitude. He wasn't the one suffering. She was. And for the whole family, too; she hadn't just done this for herself. "He didn't lie about the credentials. They are very good. I've already found something."

Her brother read the letter. "This looks promising," he murmured, though he didn't manage to smile. "But are you sure you want to work with children now?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked him, sitting down in the other chair. "I won't allow this to bring me down, Ned. It was the only solution I had." Her voice cracked. "Father would not help. Brandon cannot help. Benjen is a child. And you were away. I had to do something, Ned."

He sighed. "I understand." And he must have for he took her hand in his and squeezed it affectionately. "I shouldn't have left."

"Let it die, brother. I'll be fine," Lyanna said. She patted his hand in a reassuring manner. Ned tended to take everyone's troubles onto himself. "Everything will be fine."

"I know." He sat up and walked to the desk. Lyanna watched him curiously. He retrieved an object from inside the desk. It was wrapped in old cloth. Ned unfastened the knot and unwrapped it. He held out the book towards Lyanna. "Mother had one just like this."

Her eyes left Ned's face and looked at his offering. It was a rectangular book, not very large and, true enough, in the image of their late mother's notebook. Lyanna took it with trembling hands. She traced the cover with her finger. The leather was smooth and cool. "I remember. She used to draw these sketches of animals. And she would show them to us before we went to sleep." She opened the book, half expecting such drawing to appear before her eyes. But the sheets were blank, pristine white, waiting to be filled by another hand. "I never saw it again after she died."

"Father burned it," Ned answered the unasked question. "He had been drinking that night and I think he couldn't deal with her passing very well. He found the notebook on his desk. I left it there by mistake. And when I went back to get it, father was tearing out the pages and throwing them in the fire."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Father had loved mother, or at least that was what his behaviour had suggested then.

"He was so angry. I didn't dare go in." Ned gazed into the fire burning in the hearth. "But this one is yours to do with as you like."

"Thank you," Lyanna said, clutching the gift to her chest. Dear Ned, he had his faults like any other person, but he tried so hard to make it all alright. "It is a very nice gift, Ned. I might draw something too, though it won't be as good as mother's sketches."

"They'll be lovely." He gave her an odd look. "You deserve so much more than this. Lya, I don't know how to ever repay you."

By finding her son, she answered in her mind. But Lyanna would not say the words. She couldn't. "You don't have to do anything, Ned. You are my brother."

A few days later Ned was leaving and Lyanna and their father saw him off. After she returned, entering her room, her eyes feel on the notebook resting on her desk. Lyanna walked towards it. She lifted it up and opened it. The blank page stared back at her. So Lyanna sat down and searched for the nearest writing instrument.

Mother had loved writing and drawing when she and her brothers were little children. She would make up stories to go with the pictures, and sometimes father would join in too. Those days were long gone though. Now all Lyanna had was the notebook and her own imagination. And a son. The thought entered her mind abruptly. She also had a son. Mother had written those stories for them. She would write her own stories for her son.

Someday, somehow, she might meet the boy she birthed, when he was a child or a young man or even old and gray. She would give him the book and tell him to read it. She wanted him to know that despite the circumstances that forced her to do what she had done, she did love him, truly, with all her heart, and she hadn't stopped loving him for one moment, not ever once since she was parted from him. She just wanted him to know. Whether or not he returned her feelings. And there would never come a time when she did not think of him with love and regret mingling inside her heart. Lyanna could not explain the way she felt. He had held the boy a few minutes in her arms and her world had shrunk to him. He became her everything in an instant. How could he have changed her so much, a babe, a simple little child.

A laugh escaped her lips. She didn't know his name either. There were so many names one could call their son. While other mothers would call after their boys Petyr, Rickon, Hoster, Lyanna would only ever call him 'my son' or 'my child'. He would remain nameless to her. But forever in her heart. There were so many things she wanted to say, but the words were all jumbled together. She couldn't seem to find the right phrasing. Her mind refused to cooperate. Lyanna leaned back in her seat. What did she want to say that was more important than anything else. She thought on that long and hard, trying to determine her feelings.

But the best words were often found when one did not search for them painstakingly. A leaf fell out of the tree before Lyanna's eyes.

_To my darling son,_

_I love you and that is all._

A lone tear fell down her cheek.


	4. To Make a Life

_My dear son,_

_I love you; a thousand times I love you. The day of your birth has come again and I find myself thinking that all these blooms on the trees are paying homage as am I._

_Lovingly,_

_Your mother_

Blowing over the dark ink, Lyanna willed it to dry faster. She was fairly sure no one paid her much mind, but even so it was best to keep private things from eyes that had no business seeing them. Thankfully her travel companions were each too busy with their own business to mind Lyanna and her notebook. So reassured, the young woman returned her eyes to the words.

Her son would be seven already. What did he look like, she found herself wondering? Did he resemble her at all or was he growing up to look more and more like his father with each passing day? A sigh escaped her lip and the gentleman across from her lowered his paper enough to give her a questioning look. Lyanna smiled at the show of concern but shook her head when asked if she needed anything.

Luck seemed to be on her side. Lyanna had not really known what to expect after she returned home all those years ago. Yet Ned, the only one of her brother to whom she told her secret, had done all in his power to find her son. Such was his way, she determined with an absent smile. Ned had seen her suffering and had delved into the mystery at hand. Fortunately it seemed that the Seven Kingdoms did not boast a great number of silver haired noblemen. Nor did babies appear on the doorsteps of many such nobles. Lyanna had to comment the man for the arrangements he had made. It was a clever plan and she could not help wondering if anyone had a hand in it also.

A few years, that was how long it took her to uncover the location of her son. It seemed the father of her child was indeed a man of some influence. His titles were many and impressive, even more so the fortune of his family. Lyanna had knows that he would be someone of means, yet she hadn't expected quite what her brother had told her. In truth she thought he might be one of the noveau riche with a newly acquired title, who for some reason was desperate for a child. Not for one moment did she presume to think the heir to the seat of Dragonstone was the man who fathered a child on her. The discovery had stunned her into silence while filling her with curiosity.

So Lyanna had spent much of her time trying to find out more details about the Lord of Dragonstone. It proved a difficult task for the man was somewhat of a recluse and discreet enough to raise suspicious inside of Lyanna's mind. She needed to know more. She needed to know everything down to the last detail. Yet Rhaegar Targaryen, as that was the intimate name by which he went, remained a mystery. There were rumours though.

It was a truth universally acknowledged, that the ton in possession of a prying disposition, must be in want of information regarding the private affairs of this elite class' members. Hence the gossip. Where there was no truth to be found, it was fabricated. While Lyanna could not consider herself part of the elevated circles, she had been up to a point part of it. Falling into genteel poverty and engaging in trade had cut her off the list, but she remembered well enough their habits.

She was therefore more than certain that half of what she'd heard about the man were blatant lies and the other half were only partial truths at best. There was only one point which she could not refute, and that was that Rhaegar Targaryen had the handsomest face the gods could have carved on a man. A woman would have to be blind and addled in the head to deny he had charm.

Yet for that his reputation was rather tame. It seemed that he had tried to follow the rules of society at every turn since he was a very young man. His career at University had been laudable, his marriage to a Dornish heiress was the envy of all gentlemen, his continuously growing fortune was a credit to his skills and so on. It was rather strange to think that such a man had needed to find a woman to bear him children. And at that particular point, Lyanna pinched the bridge of her nose at the unpleasant memory of a less than charming discovery.

Rhaegar had had children before, by his wife. The Dornish heiress had given his a daughter and a son. A fire had broken out thought and it killed both children, and some said the mother too. Others were of the dubious opinion that Rhaegar himself had killed his wife for her neglect of the children. Some even said he had her arrested and deported for the murder of her own children. Lyanna though it hard to credit such a notion. She may have well died in the fire. The man who had slept with her was not a beast. She reused to be persuaded for one instance that he could act in violence against another creature without being provoked. Especially not against a woman who had given his children. That left her with more questions. Did his wife yet live? Was she unable to produce more children? All evidence seemed to indicate such.

Shaking those thoughts away, Lyanna looked out the window while closing the book on her lap. She tied a ribbon around it, her mind concentrating on the scenery outside. It was quite lovely. The climate was cooler than what she had grown used to in Dorne, but Lyanna was sure, she would grow accustomed to it in little time. Even preoccupied with finding her son, she had not neglected her work. Lyanna had made good use of the recommendations given to her. She had worked as a governed, first for a couple of years in the Reach, her charges two very energetic young ladies. Both had wedded since and one even had a child. Then she had taken a position up North in the house of a minor nobleman, whose sole son needed some polishing before being sent off to a boarding school. After that she was put in charge of a little girl, who was unfortunately a bit simple; a sweet child, but not given to learning, her progress had been slow and meagre despite Lyanna's best efforts and in the end her parents had given up a governess' services. Since the she had spent three years as a ladies companion, a bit disgruntled at her failure with the girl. But after that a new position attracted her attention and Lyanna had once more had her own classroom, teaching a wilful, sometimes downright unpleasant girl.

And somehow, the gods had smiled down upon her and she found advertised in the papers a position in Dragonstone. She had been waiting for such an opportunity. It had arrived like a blessing from above, like rain after a year of drought. Ned had tried to warn her away. He had dutifully reminded her of the terms of the contract she had signed. Lyanna had stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he was, essentially, in the right.

Somehow Lyanna had convinced herself that seven years had changed her enough so that she would not be recognised. It was a foolish thought, yet she could not find the strength to relinquish it. After all, she did not plan to steal the boy and run off with the child. She merely wanted to see him and be of some use, even if as only as a governess that cut into his hours of play. She would get to know him. And he would know her. And sometime, a lifetime away she might get the courage to tell him the truth, or to simply send him a book filled with her thoughts of him. She would see then. It was impossible to make up her mind at the moment.

"Is this your first time on Dragonstone, Miss?" another woman asked her cheerfully when Lyanna accidentally looked her way. She was heavily pregnant and leaning against her husband for support.

Lyanna nodded. "I have not had the pleasure of coming here before. It seems a charming place."

"Oh, it is!" the woman assured her. In a few short moments she had introduced herself and was quite pleased to regale Lyanna with her adventurous life on Dragonstone. She had been born and raised in what used to be the small fishing village, but her life had taken her away and into the arms of her husband, a physician.

"Has it changed so very much?" Lyanna asked, curious as she glanced again out the window for a few moments.

"Indeed," came the reply. "I almost didn't recognise it to be honest. But I am very glad. Change is good for us all."

* * *

Dusting her skirt, Lyanna suppressed a sigh. The time had finally come. She stood in front of the door, unsure of herself. She raised her fist, prepared to gain entrance, but something made her stop. Lyanna looked to her right and then to her left, a chill running down her spine. Something malicious hung in the air. A sort of darkness she could not fully explain. Mayhap she was just tired from her journey. She shook away the feeling and knocked on the door. It was her nerved playing tricks on her. The woman took a deep breath in order to calm herself and dispel the fear that had suddenly gripped her.

The door opened and a sour faced woman glared at her. Lyanna had not expected such a greeting. She nonetheless held back an unfriendly gaze of her own. "Who are you and what is your business here?" the wretched creatures demanded, eyeing Lyanna with something akin to contempt.

An annoyed flush coloured her features. "I am Lyanna Stark, here about the governed position. Is this not the residence at which I was called?" Her own voice was cold as ice and twice as cutting as a fine blade. If the odious creature thought she could speak to her like that, she was mistaken.

The woman gasped. "My apologies, Miss." She did a creditable job of looking contrite. "We have been expecting you, 'tis true. Yet we have had some trouble these past few days. I am ashamed for having greeted you thus. I do apologise most sincerely, Miss."

Sighing, Lyanna nodded her head in acceptance. "It is of no import. I should like to meet the mistress of the house if I may. I suspect she would be best suited to tell me about my charge," she spoke as the woman ushered her in and took her travelling cloak off her shoulders.

"If you will follow me, Miss," the woman said then. Lyanna could only conclude she was the housekeeper. "The Mistress of the house is no longer with us, but young Jon's grandmother will be happy enough to give you the required information. That is, Jon is the name of your charge."

Jon. He had named the chilled Jon, a name most common. A wave of an indescribable emotion erupted in Lyanna's chest. Her son's name was Jon. She hid a smile and followed the housekeeper, who was finally kind enough to introduce herself as Mrs Stokeworth. Lyanna would never understand how some people could cram a lifetime in a few sentences, yet Mrs Stokeworth did just that when informing her that she had worked in the housed since the current lord was in leading strings. Lyanna swallowed a laugh at that. She could not reconcile the image of the man who had given her a babe with a small boy being led around by a careful hand. Mrs Stokeworth had finished the entire history of her employment by the time they had reached this grandmother's chambers and she assured Lyanna that a proper tour of the house would be given to her soon.

As much as she had appreciated the woman giving her so much information, Lyanna was relieved to no longer be subjected to her chattering. She could finally find some truth in the whole situation. Mrs Stokeworth announced her and Lyanna was once more led in.

Before her, a beautiful woman stood on a sofa, a cup of tea in her hands. Lyanna curtsied. "My lady," she greeted her respectfully.

"You must be the new governess," the woman spoke. "Well, come sit by me." Lyanna obeyed, sitting on the other end of the sofa. "I suspect you are interested in your charge." More than words could possibly convey. Lyanna held that to herself. Instead she gave a small nod to confirm what the woman had said. "But first thing first. I am Joanna Lannister, more commonly Lady Casterly."

"My name is Lyanna Stark, my lady," she felt compelled to offer when Lady Joanna's eyes did not leave her. "About my pupil-"

"His name is Jon," Lady Joanna cut her off. "Jon Targaryen. He is a boy of seven and in dire need of a hand to guide him. I don't believe in hiding behind one's fingers, so I shall be frank. I do not know what you have heard about us, Miss Stark, but here are the facts: Jon had no mother, and his father, while loving by all accounts, will not be stern to the boy. Jon is somewhat spoiled but once one knows him, he is a very sweet boy."

"Am I his first governess, Lady Casterly?" Lyanna asked, fighting to remain aloof and professional about the matter. She could not lose face before Lady Joanna.

The woman laughed. "One would wish so, but the answer is not positive. Miss Stark, you are the fourth governess. None seems to last more than a few weeks." Well, Lyanna decided then and there that she would last for however long it took. "Jon has not harmed them physically, of course, but they have been subjected to various pranks."

She had dealt with that before. Lyanna merely shrugged. "I am certain I can withstand any such endeavour, my lady. Is Jon here? Sometimes it is best if a person with some authority over the child makes the necessary introductions."

"Oh, bless my soul!" the lady exclaimed. "I have no such authority, I fear, Miss Stark."

"My apologies, but are you not the boy's grandmother? I was told that was the case." Lyanna raised one eyebrows as Lady Joanna dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Heavens no!" She straightened herself a few moments later. "I thought you knew all about our scandalous little island, Miss Stark. I did wonder at your courage coming here." It must have been clear from Lyanna's face that she knew little enough. Lady Joanna, however, did not take pity of her. "You shall find out all the sordid detail, I promise you. As for Jon, it would be best to await his father's return as the little sprite has accompanied him on his ride. They shall be back soon enough. Until then, have a cup of tea. You look pale."

And she felt ill. Lyanna took the tea and nibbled on a biscuit. Lady Joanna's talk of secrets did not bring her any sort of comfort. She gave the woman a dubious look. Although beautiful, she was certainly not young. If anything she could have easily been Lyanna's mother. Her golden ringlets fell across her shoulders and silver streaks ran along them. Her face was lightly creased, lines around her mouth and eyes. She dressed elegantly, but in a simple enough manner. That might have had more to do with being in the country rather than anything else.

Lady Joanna seemed to welcome her presence. She confessed to being dreadfully bored and was convinced Lyanna would be a good companion. Lyanna herself did not bother to correct the woman. She would not have much time to keep her company, to be sure, but they were bound to see one another every now and then if the lady was willing to conversed with hired help, which she did seem to be, in her boredom anyway.

There were no illusions in Lyanna's mind that once guests came, Lady Joanna would forget all about her. In the meantime, she was free to listen to some chatter and relax before the confrontation. The tea was invigorating, a very tasty blend which Lyanna had rarely had. When she praised it, Lady Joanna confessed to it being a favourite with her and thus more than common in the household. Lyanna accepted that with an indulgent smile. Had things gone better for her in life, she might have been just like Lady Joanna.

After enough time had passed, Mrs Stokeworth came back for Lyanna. Her stern face did not look quite as frightening as before, but Lyanna could not say she liked the woman. Lady Joanna seemed not to be overly fond of her also. But, Lyanna reminded herself, it was not her job to judge these people. She was here to see her son. To teach him. Outside that nothing mattered.

Mrs Stokeworth, true to her word, gave Lyanna the tour she had promised. They started with the below stairs section, where she was acquainted with the chambermaids, the cook, the butler, the driver and a few others. They were pleasant but not warm and Lyanna left them to their own stories. Next she was shown the master's library and a few rooms in which business was conducted. She was warned not to step in them unless she was called for. Not that Lyanna ever would.

Working as a governess had taught her that her position was awkward at best and downright uncomfortable at worst. The governess did not belong with the servants, yet she was not on the same footing as her employers. Her position remained somewhere between, never one, nor the other. She was treated with respect by the staff, and the employers were usually understanding enough, but she was there to be seen and not heard, not unlike her pupils. In the schoolroom she was given free reign. There she did belong.

When she asked about the schoolroom, Mrs Stokeworth took her to the nursery and showed her a large chamber with a hearth and wide windows. There was a sturdy writing table which had two chairs and books adorned the cabinets she could see from her place in the doorway.

"The young master won't come here, though," the woman muttered. "Not unless he's forced to."

"Oh, he will," Lyanna assured the woman. She would make it so. She would show Jon that she had his best interest at heart. When he understood that, he would come to the room on his own. "Does the young master have a special place. A set of rooms where he likes to stay?"

"That would be in the west wing. Or outside in the godswood. Strangest thing, Seven save me. The climbed that weirwood more times that I can count despite being told not to." Mrs Stokeworth clucked her tongue in disapproval and Lyanna was not quite sure what to make of that.

The rest of the house she did not pay much attention to. But when Mrs Stokeworth took her to her room, Lyanna tanked her profusely. The house was damnably large, like a person would actually need at the space. Her own rooms were quite big. Previous employers had offer her more modest accommodations, but here she had a large bed, a desk, two chairs, a dresser and even a hearth. Mrs Stokeworth instructed her about mealtimes and laundry and other such tasks with Lyanna keeping a careful tab on her words.

Once she was alone Lyanna wasted no time in falling backwards on the bed, sinking in the mattress. She fought the urge to giggle and couldn't quite control herself. At least it was not hysterical laughter. She hoped no one was around to hear her. It could bear disastrous consequences if they though her mad. And yet her heart was so full she could not sit still. She needed to do something. Anything.

She would be called down sooner or later, of that she had little doubt and when she was she would need to plead her case. She could only hope the higher beings in care of her soul favoured her. It would be such a shame to leave without even having seen her child.

Lyanna unpacked slowly, resolving to keep her wits about her. She would worry about Jon's father when the moment was right and not before. She took a deep breath, and another one after. All would be fine, she told herself. It had to be. It must.

"Everything is in the hands of the gods." They had helped her reach the place she was at. They would aid her later too. She only needed to hold on to her courage a little longer. She would see Jon. That was important. She would see her sweet babe. Lightness filled her heart. "Let this be a joyous occasion," she prayed, a hand coming across her heart. It was the only thing she could think to do.

* * *

A soft knock on her door pulled Lyanna away from the dime novel she had been filling her time with. Lyanna looked up from the page she had been turning as the door opened. A footman stood just outside. "You are summoned down, Miss," he said in a calm, emotionless voice.

Lyanna closed the book and followed him down the spiralling stairs. There were still a couple of hours before they were to commence with supper, she realised as they passed the informal dining room. And she was not being led to a sitting room. Instead she was taken to the library which Mrs Stokeworth had warned her was private and not to be entered unless she was called there specifically. A terrible thought struck her just then. Why was she being called to the library?

"Here it is, Miss," the man announced. He gave her a cool nod and turned back on his heel, leaving her alone in the deserted hall. Lyanna watched him go, fighting the urge to call him back. It would do little good. Instead she steeled herself against the fear gnawing at her.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door to alert whoever was waiting on the other side of her presence. She was invited in by a voice she remembered fondly. Lyanna felt something tug at her heart. She swallowed with difficulty and pushed the door open.

Inside a weak light shone through the windows. Her employer sat at the table, head bowed over some document. His hand moved as he signed the bottom of the page, the flow both graceful and seemingly mindless. Lyanna shivered. That hand had caressed her face. That hand had held her by the shoulder. Tenderness, unexpected and unwelcomed, shot through her.

And he looked up. She froze as his eyes came to rest on her face. And he did too. The hand which had been writing rose slightly and remained suspended in the air. His mouth opened but no words came out. He simply stared at her, his gaze burning a hole through her. Lyanna did not know what to do. Before she might have doubted she had reached the right place. It was impossible given the current conditions. So she waited, She waited for his hand to drop back down and for him to say something. Anything.

She should have known that some wishes did come true, and not in the best way.

"You," he hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. His face drained of colour and he seemed at a loss once more, But he recovered fairly quick. "Gods be good! How could this have happened?" His hand did descent upon the desk then. "What could you be possibly doing here?"

"I am a governess," Lyanna replied cautiously. He remained uncomprehending, but his lips dropped in a scowl. Despite herself, Lyanna felt hurt. "You advertised. In the paper. A couple of months ago." She did not know why she was still speaking. It was quite clear he had no wish to hear her.

"I did not," he bit off. "I couldn't have." His brow creased. Lyanna could not decide if she should settle matters for him or not. In the end, she did.

"I'm afraid you did, my lord. I have the advertisement with me. Should you like to, I can go upstairs and retrieve it." She blinked when he stood up and advanced upon her. It was rather intimidating and she knew he was doing it on purpose. For that reason, she refused to back away, stiffening her muscles. She would not beat a retreat.

"Should I like to," he echoed, towering over her. "There is no need to do so, Miss Stark. My son doesn't have need of your services."

"I only know that I have applied for this position and I was called here upon being deemed acceptable. If I am sent away now, where will I go?" Without another situation waiting for her and a reference from her previous employers she would not be welcomed in any respectable employment.

"Why should that interest me?" Rhaegar asked, clearly taken aback. She had never spoken to him thus.

Summoning every ounce of logic available to her, Lyanna straightened her back. "If you do not wish me here, it is understandable, and I shall leave. But I need another situation and until I can find another position I have nowhere to go."

"Do you think me a fool, Miss Stark? Return to your father's home." He gave her an impatient glare which rubbed very wrong with the image she had of him. Perhaps she had been mistaken.

"My father is dead," she replied automatically. Regret touched his face briefly. Lyanna's heart quickened its pace. Hope bloomed in her breast. "Please, my lord. A month is all I ask. I shall do my duty here for this one month and then, if I somehow fail, I shall be on my way."

Silence fell between them. Rhaegar walked to the fireplace and rested his hand on the mantelpiece. He stared into the fire for a long time. Or at least to Lyanna it seemed so. She bit her lip, unsure of what to do with herself. One month was not much time. Surely he would not begrudge her even that. Rhaegar looked at her suddenly, eyes trained on her face. She wondered if she still blushed at such intense stares.

"One month," he declared. "One month and that is all. I cannot throw you out in good conscious. But I would have your promise that your lips shall remain sealed about the past."

"I would never say anything, my lord. My lips are sealed." It was not in her interest to produce a scene. "I thank you, my lord."

He said something she couldn't catch. Lyanna waited for his dismissal, but it seemed that Rhaegar had other ideas. "I suppose I ought to tell Jon he has a new governess. You do know that I named him Jon, do you not?"

"So I've been told," Lyanna allowed. He walked past her, brushing against her side gently. Lyanna was much too aware of it. She cursed her wildly beating heart. It was not the time to fall into a swoon over a man she barely knew and who had changed, decidedly for the worse, since she'd last seen him. Her heart, as always, rebelled against the perfectly logical thought and persisted into driving Lyanna towards early heart failure.

It took more than one step of hers to match his gait, but Lyanna kept close on his trail. He had elected not to say anything more and she was comfortable enough with the silence until she realised they were not heading towards the nursery.

"Does your son not take his meals in the nursery, my lord?" she questioned, confused. Most parents did not allow their children at the supper table, electing instead to lock them up in the nursery, leaving them in the care of their governess and whoever else had watch of them.

"Not when the meal is informal," he answered after a short pause. "You shall be expected to accompany him down every evening, Miss Stark, and so you too shall dine with us."

She hoped her presence would cut into his appetite, Lyanna decided in a bout of wickedness. "Are there any other requirements? Is there anything in particular you would like your son to learn, my lord?"

"Proceed as you deem fit," he told her, lengthening his pace. "In a moth's time there is no damage you can possibly do."

Clearly the man did not know children very well. No damage, he said. Lyanna closed her eyes against the annoyance his words produced. "I should not like to do any damage, had I a decade to teach him."

Stubborn silence met her declaration.

They entered the sitting room together and found Jon perched on Lady Joanna's lap. He was whispering in her ear and the woman laughed softly. She looked up towards Rhaegar and Lyanna and her smile only grew. "Look there, Jon. It seems your father had a surprise for you."

Discomforted by those words Lyanna elected to study her son. He had more of her than he did of his father, that much was clear. In fact he looked remarkably like her middle brother. The boy levelled a curious stare at her, but when he saw she was a governess his little face paled and he looked ready to fall off Lady Joanna's lap. Lyanna admired him undisturbed and was vaguely aware that all eyes were trained on her at the moment. She fought to keep a calm façade. It was not an easy endeavour, the scrutiny making her uncomfortable.

Rhaegar cleared his throat and was about to make the introductions, presumably, when the boy yelled out, "I don't need a governess!"

"And yet you have one. Jon, this is Miss Stark, your new governess." Lyanna was startled. She looked towards a smiling Joanna. "You may thank Lady Joanna for this kindness."

"Grandmamma!" the boy whined, turning around in the woman's hold. "This is not fair!"


End file.
